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with a fewe of his Lords, as the most opinions of the house was, or with his whole traine to receave him theare amongst them: Masters, quoth Sir Thomas More, forasmuche as my Lord Cardinall latelie laied to our charges the lightnes of our tonges for things uttered out of this house, it shall not in my minde be amisse to receave him with all his pompe, with his maces, his pillers, pollaxes, his crosses, his hatt and the greate seale too; to th'intent that if he finde the like fault with us heerafter, wee maie be the bolder from ourselves to laie the blame on those that his Grace bringeth hither with him.' Whearunto the house agreeinge, he was receaved accordinglie. Wheare after that he had in a solemne oration by manie reasons proved how necessarie it was the demande theare moved to be graunted, and further shewed that lesse would not serve to maintaine the Prince's purpose, He seeinge the companie sittinge still silent and thearunto nothinge answearinge, contrarye to his expectation shewinge in themselves towardes his request noe towardnes of inclinacion, saied unto them, Masters, you have many wise and learned men amongst you, and since I am from the Kinge's owne person sent hither unto you for the preservacion of your selves and all the Realme, I thinke it meete you give me some reasonable answeare.' Wheareat everie man holdinge his peace, then beganne he to speake to one Mr Marney, afterward Lord Marney, How saie you, quothe hee, Mr Marney? who makinge him noe answeare neyther, he severallie asked the same question of diverse other accompted the wisest of the companye, to whome when none of them all would give so muche as one worde, being agreed before, as the custome was, to answeare by their Speaker, Masters, quoth the Cardinall, unlesse it be the manner of your house, as of likelihood it is, by the mouthe of your Speaker whome you have chosen for trustie and wise, (as indeed he is) in such cases to utter your mindes, heere is without doubt a marvelous obstinate silence,' and thearupon he required answeare of Mr Speaker. Who first reverentlie on his knees excusinge the silence of the house, abashed at the presence of so noble a personage able to amaze the wisest and best learn'd in a Realme, and after by many probable arguments provinge that for them to make answeare it was neyther expedient nor agreeable with the auntient libertie of the house; in conclusion for himselfe shewed that though they had all with their voices trusted him, yet except everie one of them could put into his head of their severall witts, he alone in soe weigh

* Every cardinal of the Roman church has a pillar of silver carried before him as an emblem of his being a pillar of the church. But Wolsey out of his love of pomp and splendor had two born before him.-Lewis.

tie a matter was unfit to make his Grace answeare. Whearuppon the Cardinall, displeased with Sir Thomas More, that had not in this Parliament in all things satisfied his desire, suddenlie arose and departed.

"And after the Parliament ended, in his gallerie at White hall at Westminster [he] uttered unto him his griefes, sayeinge: Would to God you had binne at Rome, Mr More, when I made you Speaker.' Your Grace not offended soe would I too,' quoth Sir Thomas More. And to winde suche quarrells out of the Cardinall's head, he beganne to talke of the gallerie, sayeinge, I like this gallerie of yours muche better then your gallerie at Hampton-Court. Whearwith soe wiselie broke he off the Cardinal's displeasant talke, that the Cardinall at that present, as it seemed, wist not what more to saie unto him*.

"Suche entire favour did the Kinge beare him, that he made hime Chauncellor of the Duchie of Lancaster uppon the deathe of Sir Richard Wingfield who had that office before. And for the pleasure he tooke in his companie would his Grace suddenlie sometimes come home to his house at Chelsey to be merry with him, Whither, on a time, unlooked for he came to dinner, and after dinner, in a faire garden of his, walked with him by the space of an howre, holdinge his arme about his necke. As soone as his Grace was gone, I rejoy cinge thearat, saide to Sir Thomas More, how happie he was whome the Kinge had soe familliarlie entertained, as I never had seene him doe to any other, except Cardinall Wolsey, whome I sawe his Grace walke once with arme in arme. I thanke our Lord, sonne, (quoth he) I finde his Grace my very good Lord indeed, and I beleive he dothe as singularlie favor me as anye subject within this Realme: howbeit, sonne Roper, I maie tell thee, I have no cause to be prowde thearof, for if my head would winne him a castle in Fraunce (for then was theare warres beetwixt us) it should not faile to goe.”


"As Sir Thomas More's custome was dailie (if he weare at home) besides his+ private praiers with his children, to saie the seaven psalmes, the Lettanie, and the Suffrages followeinge, so was his guise nightlie before he went to bed, with his wife, children and houshold, to goe to his chappell, and theare on his knees ordinarily to saie certaine psalmes and collects with them. And because he was desirous for godlie purposes, solitarie to sequester himselfe from

Cardinalis dum viveret Moro parum æquus erat, eumqué metucbat verius quam amabat.-Erasmi Epist.

+ Habet suas horas quibus Deo litet precibus, non ex more, sed ex pectore depromptis.-Erasmi Epist.

worldlie companie, a good distance from his
house builded he a place called the newe-
buildinge, whearin was a Chappell, a Lib-
rarie, and a Gallerye, in which, as his use
was on other daies to occupie himselfe in
prayer and studie theare together, soe on the
Fridaies used he continuallie to be theare
from morninge to night, spendinge his time
onlie in devout praiers and spirituall exer-
cises. And to provoake his wife and chil-
dren to the desier of heavenlie thinges, he
would sometimes use these wordes unto
them. * It is now noe maistrie for chil-
dren to goe to heaven, for everie body giv-
ethe you good counsaile, everie body giveth
you good example. You see virtue reward-
ed and vice punished, soe that you are car-
ried up to heaven even by the chinnes. But
if you live in the time that noe man will
give you good counsaile, noe man will give
you good example, when you shall see vir-
tue punished and vice rewarded, if you will
then stande fast and firmelie sticke to God
uppon paine of life, though you be but halfe
good, God will allow you for whole good.'
If his wife or anie of his children had binne
diseased or troubled, he would saie unto
• We maie not looke, at our plea-
sures, to go to heaven in featherbeds, it is
not the way; for the Lord himselfe went
thither with great paine, by many tribula-
cions, which was the pathe whearin he walk-
ed thither, for the servant maie not looke to
be in better case then his Master.' And
as he would in this sort perswade them to
take their troubles patientlie, soe would he
in like sort teache them to withstand the
Divill and his temptacions valiantly, saye-
inge, Whosoever will marke the Divill
and his temptacions, shall finde him thearin
much like to ane ape, who not well looked
to will be busie and bold to do shrewde
turnes, and contrariwise beinge spyede will
suddainelie leape backe and adventure noe
farther. Soe the Divill findinge a man idle,
sloathfull, and without resistance readie to
receave his temptacions, waxethe soe hardie
that he will not faile still to continewe with
him, untill to his purpose he have throughlie
brought him. But on the other side if he
see a man with dilligence persevere to with-
stand his tempacions, he waxethe so wearie
that in conclusion he utterlie forsaketh him.

For as the Divill of disposition is a spirit of
soe high pride as he cannot abide to be
mocked, soe is he of nature soe envious, that
he fearethe anie more to assault him, least

he should thearbie not onlie catche a foule fall himselfe, but also should minister to the man more matter of merit. Thus delighted he evermore not only in vertuous exercises to be occupied himselfe, but alsoe to exhort his wife, children, and housholde,

to embrace the same and followe it."

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Cum amicis sic fabulatur de vita futuri seculi, ut agnoscas illum ex animo loqui, nec sine optima spe.-Erasmi Epist.

"This Lord Chauncellor used commonlie everie afternoone to sit in his open hall, to the intent that if any person had any suit unto him, they might the more boldlie come to his presence and then open their complaints before him. Whose manner was alsoe to reade everie bill himselfe, before he would award any Sub-pana, which being matter worthie of Sub-pana, he would set his hande unto or else cancell it. Whensoever he passed through Westminster-Hall to his place in the Chauncery by the Court of the King's Bench, if his Father (beinge one of the Judges therof) had binne satt ere he came, he would goe into the same Court, and theare reverentlie kneelinge downe in the sight of them all dulie aske his Father's blessinge. And if it fortuned that his Father and he at Readings in Lincolnes Inne met together, (as they sometimes did) notwithstandinge his high office he would offer in argument the preeminence to his Father, though he for his office sake would refuse to take it. And for better declaration of his naturall affections towards his Father, he not onelie, while he laye on his deathe bedd, accordinge to his dutie, oftentimes with comfortable wordes most kindlie came to visit him, but also at his departure out of this world, with teares takeinge him about the necke, most lovingelie kissed and embraced him, commendinge him into the hands of almightie God, and soe departed from him."

The reader will recollect that More resigned the Chancellorship on account of his resolution not to assist Henry in viz. the divorce from Queen Katharine. "his great matter," as Roper calls it,

"After he had thus given over the Chauncellorship, and placed all his gentlemen and yeomen with noblemen and byshops, and his 8 watermen with the Lord Audley, that in the same office succeeded him, to whome alsoe he gave his great barge; then callinge us all that weare his children to him, and askinge our advise how we might now in this decay of his abilitie, (by the surrender of his office soe impaired, that he could not, as he was wont and gladlie would, beare out the whole chardges of them all himselfe,) thenceforthe be able to should; when he sawe us silent, and in that live and continew together, as he wished we him, then will I, said he, shewe my poore case not readie to shewe our opinions unto quoth he, at Oxford, at an Inne of the minde to you. I have been brought up, Chauncery, at Lincolne's Inne, and alsoe in the King's Court, and so from the least degree to the highest, and yet have I in little above a hundred powndes by the yeere. yeerlie revennues at this present leaft me Soe that now must we heerafter, if we like to live together, be contented to become contributors together. But by my counsaile it shall not be best for us to fall to the lowest fare first; we will not therfore descend to Oxford-fare, nor to the fare of New-Inne;

but wee will beginne with Lincolne's-Inn diet, wheare manie Right Worshipfulls and of good yeeres doe live full well together. Which, if we finde not our selves able to maintaine the first yeere, then will we the next yeere goe one step downe to New-Inne fare, whearwith many an honest man is well contented. If that exceed our abilitie too, then we will the next yeare after descend to Oxford-fare, wheare many grave, learned and auntient fathers be continuallie conversant. Which if our power stretche not to mainteine neither, then maie wee yet with baggs and wallets goe a begginge together, and, hopinge that for pittie some good folkes will give us their charitie, at everie man's dore to singe Salve Regina, and soe still keepe companie and be merrie together. And whearas you have heard before he was by the Kinge from a verie worshipfull livinge taken into his service, with whome, in all the great and weightie causes that concearned his Highness or the Realme, he consumed and spent with painful cares, travailes and troubles, as well beyond the seas as within the Realme, in effect, the whole substance of his life, yet with all the gaine he got thearby, beinge never wastfull splendour thearof, he was not able, after the resignacion of his office of the Lord Chauncellour, for the maintenance of himselfe and suche as necessarilie belonged unto him, sufficientlie to finde meat, drinke, fewell and apparrell, and such other necessarie chardges. All the land that ever he purchased (which also he purchased before he was Lord Chauncellor) was not, I am well assured, above the valewe of 20 markes by the yeere: and, after his debts paied, he had not, I knowe, (his chaine excepted) in gould and silver leaft him the worthe of of one hundred pownds. And whearas uppon the holie daies, duringe his high Chauncellorship, one of his gentlemen, when service at the Churche was donne, ordinarilie used to come to my Ladie his wife's pewe dore, and saie nnto her, Madam, my Lord is gone; the next holidaie after the surrender of his office and departure of his gentlemen from him, he came unto my Ladie his wife's pewe himselfe, and makinge a lowe courtesie, said unto her, Madam, my Lord is gone. [But she, thinking this at first to be but one of his jests, was little moved, till he told her sadly he had given up the great seale. Whearuppon she speaking some passionate words, he called his daughters then present to see if they could not spy some fault about their mother's dressing; but they, after search, saying they could find none: hee replied, doe you not perceive that your mother's nose standeth somewhat awry? Of which

Tyndall forbiddeth folk to pray to the Virgin Mary, and specially misliketh her devout anthem Salve Regina.--More's English Works, p. 488, col. 2.

jeere the provoked Lady was so sensible that she went from him in a rage."]

His unwillingness to acknowledge, by his oath, the ecclesiastical authority, which Henry, in consequence of his quarrel with the court of Rome, assumed to himself, was made the pretence for sacrificing More to the heartless and unfeigning tyrant, whom his probity had already irremediably offended.

"As Sir Thomas More in the Tower chaunced on a time lookinge out of his windowe to behold one Mr Raynolds, a religious, learned, and virtuous Father of Syon, and 3 Monkes of the Charter-house for the matter of the supremacy and matrimony goinge out of the Tower to execucion, he as one longinge in that journey to have accompanied them, saide unto my wife then standing theare besides him, Loe doest thow not see, Meg, that these blessed fathers be now as cheerfullie goinge to their deathes, as bridegroomes to their marriages. Wherfore thearby maiest thow see, myne owne good daughter, what a great difference there is betweene such as have in effect spent all their daies in a streight and penitentiall and painfull life religiouslie, and suche as have in the world, like worldlie wretches, (as thy poore father hath donne) consumed all their time in pleasure and ease licentiouslie. For God, consideringe thair longe continued life in most sore and greivous pennance, will noe longer suffer them to remaine heere in this vale of miserie, but speedilie hence taketh them to the fruition of his everlastinge Deitie. Whearas thy sillie father, Megg, that like a wicked caitiffe, hath passed forthe the whole course of his miserable life most sinfullie, God, thinkinge him not worthie so soone to come to that eternall fe licitie, leavethe him heere yet still in this world, further to be plagued and turmoiled with miserie."


"When Sir Thomas More had continued a good while in the Tower, my ladye his wife obteyned license to see him. Who, at her first comminge, like a simple woman, and somewhat worldlie too, with this manner of salutacion homelie saluted him. 'What a good-yeere, Mr More, quoth she, I marvaile that you that hitherto have binne taken for so wise a man, will now soe plaie the foole to lie heere in this close filthie prison, and be content thus to be shutt up amonge mise and ratts, when you might be abroad at your libertie, and with the favour and good will bothe of the King and his Counsaile, if you would but doe as all the bishops and best-learned of this realme have done. And seeing you have at Chelsey a right faire house, your librarie, your bookes, your gallerie, your garden, your orchard, and all other necessaries soe handsome about you, wheare you might in the companie of me your wife, your children, and household,

be merry, I muse what a God's name you meane heere still thus fondly to tarrie.' After he had a while quietlie heard her, with a cheerfull countenance he said unto her; I pray thee good Mrs Alice tell me one thing.' 'What is that?' (quoth she) Is not this house, quoth he, as nigh heaven as myne own?' To whome she after her accustomed homelie fashion not likinge suche talke, answered: Tille-valle, tille-valle.' How say you, Mrs Alice, is it not soe?' quoth he, Bone Deus, bone Deus, Man, will this geare never be leaft?' quoth she, Well then, Mistriss Alice, if it be soe, quoth hee, it is verie well; for I see no great cause why I should muche joy in my gaie house, or in anie thinge thearunto belonginge, when if I should but seaven yeeres lie buried under the ground, and then arise and come thither againe, I should not faile to finde some thearin that would bid me get me out of dores, and tell me it weare none of mine. What cause have I then to like such an house as would so soon forget his master?' Soe her perswasions moved him but little.


"Soe remained Sir Thomas More in the Tower more then a weeke after his judgment. From whence the daie before he suffered he sent his shirt of haire, not willing to have it seene, to my wife his deerlie beloved daughter, and a letter written with a cole, conteined in the foresaid booke of his workes, expressinge the fervent desire he had to suffer on the morrow in these wordes followeinge: I comber you, good Margaret, much, but I would be sory if it should be anie longer then to morrow. For it is Sainct Thomas even and the Utas of St. Peeter and therfore to morrow longe I to goe to God; it weare a daie verie meet and convenient for me. Deere Megg, I never liked your manner towards me better then when you kissed me last. For I like when daughterlie love and deere charitie hath noe leasure to look to worldlie courtesie.' And soe uppon the next morrowe, Tuesdaie, beinge St. Thomas his eve and the Utas of Saincte Peeter, in the yeer of our Lord 1535, accordinge as he in his letter the daie before had wished, earlie in the morninge came to him Sir Thomas Pope, his singular good freinde, on message from the Kinge and counsaile that he should the same daie before nine of the clock in the morninge suffer deathe, and that therfore he should forthwith prepare himself thearto. Mr. Pope, quoth Sir Thomas More, for your good tidings I hartelie thanke you. I have been alwaies muche bounden to the Kinge's Highnes for the benefites and honours that he hath still from time to time most bountifullye heaped uppon me; and yet more bounden am I to his Grace for puttinge me into this place wheare I have had convenient time and space to have remembrance of my end. And soe, God helpe me, most of all, Mr. Pope, am I bounden to his Highnes, VOL. IV.


that it pleaseth him so shortlie to ridd me from the miseries of this wretched world, and therfore will I not faile earnestlie to praie for his Grace bothe heere and allsoe in the worlde to come.' The King's pleasure is farther, quoth Mr. Pope, that at your execution you shall not use manie wordes. 'Mr Pope, quoth he, you doe well to give me warninge of his Grace's pleasure, for otherwise at that time had I purposed somewhat to have spoken, but of noe matter whearwith his Grace or any should have had cause to be offended. Nevertheless, whatsoever I intended, I am readie obedientlie to conforme my selfe to his Grace's commandement; and I beseeche you, good Mr. Pope, to be a meane to his Highnes that my daughter Margaret maie be at my buriall.' The Kinge is content allreadie, quoth Mr. Pope, that your wife and childeren and other your freinds shall have libertie to be present thearat. Oh how muche beholdinge then, said Sir Thomas More, am I unto his Grace, that unto my poore buriall vouchsafethe to have soe gratious consideracion!' Whearwithall Mr Pope, takeinge his leave, could not refraine from weepinge. Which Sir Thomas More perceavinge comforted him in this wise. Quiet your selfe, good Mr. Pope, and be not discomforted: for I trust that we shall once in heaven see each other full merrilie, where we shall be sure to live and love togeather in joyfull bliss eternallie.' Uppon whose departure, Sir Thomas More, as one that had binne invited to some solemn feast, chaunged himselfe into his best apparrell. Which Mr. Lieutenant espieing advised him to put it of, sayeinge, that he that should have it was but a javell. What, Mr. Lieutenant, quothe he, shall I account him a javell that shall doe me this daie soe singuler a benefit? Naie, I assure you, weare it cloath of gold, I should thinke it well bestowed on him, as Sainct Cyprian did, who gave his executioner thirtie peeces of gold.' And albeit, at length, he, through Mr. Lieutenant's importunate persuasion, altered his apparrell, yet, after the example of the holie Martyr Sainct Cyprian, did he, of that little money that was left him, send an angell of gold to his executioner. And soe was he by Mr. Lieutenant brought out of the Tower to the place of execution. Wheare goinge up the skaffold, which was soe weake that it was readie to fall, he saide merrilie to the Lieutenant, I praie you see me up safe, and for my comminge downe let me shift for my selfe.' Then desired he all the people thearabout to praie for him, and to beare witness with him that he should theare suffer deathe in and for the faithe of the Catholicke Churche. Which donne he kneeled downe, and after his prayers saide, turned to the executioner with a cheerfull countenance, and said unto him, Plucke up thy spirits, man, and be not affraide to doe thine office: my neck is verie short, take heede therfore thou strike not awrie for E

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savinge of thine honestie.' Soe passed Sir Thomas More out of this world to God uppon the verie same daie which he most de

sired. Soone after his deathe came intelligence thearof to the Emperor Charles. Whearuppon he sent for Sir Thomas Eliott, our English Embassadour, and said to him; My Lord Embassadour, we understande that the Kinge your master hath put his faithfull servant and grave councellor Sir Thomas More to deathe.' Whearuppon Sir Thomas Eliott answeared, that he understoode nothing thearof. Well, saide the Emperor, it is too true: and this will we saie, that had we binne master of such a

servant, of whose dooings ourselves have had these manie yeers noe small experience, we would rather have lost the best cittie of our dominions, than have lost such a worthie Councellor. Which matter was by the same Sir Thomas Eliott to my selfe, to my wife, to Mr. Clement and his wife, to Mr.. John Heywood and his wife, and unto divers others his freindes accordinglie reported."

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WE wish to call the attention of our readers to this production, not because we think that there is any thing very formidable in its mischief, but because it speaks the sentiments and opinions of a Junto whose power, happily for this country, is on the decay, and ought never again to be permitted to lift its head. Fatal, indeed, might have been the influence of these conjurated wits and wise-men, on the patriotism and the religion of Britons, had there been in the country as bitter a disaffection to the Government, and as deep rooted an infidelity respecting the Christian Faith, as they had presumed upon, in their utter ignorance of the spirit of the age. They have not now even the cold consolation of distant hope. They feel that their reign is over yet they are loth to part either with the shibboleth of their party, or the insignia of their power, and foolishly continue to assume the same tyrannical demeanour that they wore in the splendour of their usurpation, even now, when they have been by the voice of the country dethroned.

That country feels and acknowledges, that there is something in the human

mind better than mere talents. That something is-wisdom. And when the people call to mind the paltry and cowardly counsels of these men of ta lents-their insensibility to the imperishable glories of England-their fawning adulation of despotism and despot-their niggardly praises, or their insidious attacks on time-hallowed establishments; and, above all, their sneaking, ignorant, and malignant sneers, at the religion in which we have our being-they laugh to scorn the vaunted talents of the Conspiracy, and look back with mixed self-congratulation and self-reproach to the days of their delusion, when some of them might have allowed themselves to be worked up into a causeless terror of the final overthrow of their country's liberties.

In vain, however, do these men of talents try to sustain their former arrogance. In spite of their blustering, they are crest-fallen,-sometimes, in the midst of their angriest invectives, there is a "voice of weeping heard, and loud lament;" they eat their very hearts at the spectacle of their country's unparalelled glory-they cry on us with bitter impatience to believe ourselves ruined, and wax more wroth at the scorn that replies to their folly` -they insult the ashes of those great men whose counsels have saved Europe from falling back centuries of civilization in the blastment of despotismthey break in with unhallowed violence upon the awful solitude of their afflicted King-and that they may sacrilegiously lay hands on his grey hairs, they falsely, basely, and hypocritically accuse him of having neglected the true interests of that religion which they themselves have for so many years been endeavouring to destroy.

In their defence of the character of Bishop Watson, there is an ample display of all those qualities of mind and heart, which have at last awakened against the Edinburgh Review an almost universal feeling of contempt and indignation. It is easy to see the reason of all this useless zeal in the defence of a man, who, it is well known, regarded them with aversion and abhorrence. We look in vain in the dull and fretful pages of this irritable and disappointed Reviewer, for one trace of a lofty and virtuous indignation ; he is vexed, and peevish, and out of temper-and wrecks his impotent an

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